


Of astrophysics and biochemistry

by jimmriarty



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Professors, First Meeting, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 12:10:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4304493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jimmriarty/pseuds/jimmriarty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The idea of having found someone willing to indulge in what others would call petty ramblings stimulates something deep and lights a spark that makes Sherlock wanting to move in circle and talk for hours. It brings out what motivated him to become a professor in the first place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of astrophysics and biochemistry

There is something sadistic in the way Sherlock's lips open in a smile every time that red pen falls on the paper like a guillotine, beheading and killing the possibility that the student passed the exam. Only few people are capable of solving even the first problem and the lucky ones that actually did pass the test can be counted on the fingers of one hand.

Sherlock writes an X for the third time. Shaking his head, but without being really sorry or disappointed, he moves to the next student, another poor victim of the man that without any doubt is the most hated professor in the whole university. Even his colleagues call him inhuman and cruel, blind to the possibility to learn and improve. Sherlock doesn’t care.  The opinions of those who just because of some miracles managed to become acclaimed professors are irrelevant.

"Something tells me that no one will pass your exam" A soft and unknown male voice coming from behind takes him by surprise. Sherlock stops his correction – or rather, his carnage – but he doesn’t turn to look at him.

"It's not my fault they are stupid and incapable." He murmurs in response, hand drawing the umpteenth big red X.

"Dear God… Is that a smile?"

Sherlock frowns. The smile on his lips – unintentional and the result of that arrogance that he just can’t hide in any way – turns into an annoyed grimace as his fingers tighten around the pen with more strength than necessary. He feels the childish need to glare at him and leave slamming the door.

"If you have to be that annoying, just go away.” He sighs heavily before turning. He hasn’t seen him before. The man has black hair meticulously pulled back, a pair of glasses that are most likely only to read and a smile that Sherlock finds particularly irritating. “Unlike  _someone else_ , I’m working.”

The man lets go a little laugh that, even if Sherlock doesn’t want to admit it, is incredibly musical. “Life isn’t only about work.” He singsongs, dropping himself into one of the empty chair in front of Sherlock.

“James Moriarty.” He holds out his hand. Sherlock doesn’t shake it.

They spend five long seconds looking at each other without blinking. 

 Jim’s eyes are furrowed by deep circles that denote a serious lack of sleep but they are also big, warm, almost golden because of the way the sunlight illuminates them and Sherlock just can’t help but finding them  _pretty_. They have something that makes impossible looking away. It’s strange and it’s irrational and Sherlock just can’t explain it. He tells himself that is probably because of the high level of stupidity he heard that day.

Jim is the one who breaks eye contact. He looks down on the sheets of paper that separate them.

"I just wanted to tell you that I understand what you are saying. I know what is like to teach people who don’t try hard enough” he whispers, his tongue rolling around the syllables in a way that makes his Irish roots clear.

It is difficult to say whether those words are sincere or not, but Sherlock finds himself smiling the same. It’s the first time that a colleague not only doesn’t judge him but also seems to share his thoughts. Giving James a second look, Sherlock wonders if perhaps he has judged the man too quickly. He decides to give him a second chance.

"What do you teach?"

"Astrophysics."

_Astrophysics_. All his good intentions dissolve like a polar compound in water.

"I'll never understand the meaning of a subject so useless." The voice comes out from his lips angrier and higher than he expected, making him look childish and annoying, a kid forced to deal with something he doesn’t like. “Why should we care about what happens so far away, of what doesn’t belong to our planet?” He continues, speaking louder and faster, making Jim roll his eyes. “There are too many things here in our world that have not been explained yet and that require further studies. Space doesn’t care about us and we shouldn’t care about it.”

Something in Jim changes. He isn’t amused anymore.

"How can you be so narrow minded?!" Jim shakes his head, the hint of a bitter laugh on the tip of the tongue. "You don’t understand anything. It’s important know- "

"It was a rhetorical question." Sherlock raises the corners of the lips in a grin. "I couldn’t care less about your answer.”

After all, how could he? Even if Jim was smart – which probably is since his subject requires complex knowledge of maths – he doesn’t apply his intellect in the right fields and wastes it on something that Sherlock can only see as futile and without meaning. Not being able to use something appropriately is even worse than not having it in the first place.

"Oh, I understand." Jim – who leaned forward because of the discussion – sits back properly. He retrieves his self-control in few moments and, when he opens his lips again, his voice is back to its normal level. “It doesn’t surprise me at all. Stupid people don’t know how to discuss and can’t listen to arguments against them.”

_Stupid._  That word can bring back memories he thought he had buried forever, memories that carry the sound of Mycroft’s voice – always too rigid and arrogant, always ready to criticize and judge – and the taste of failure and inferiority complex. Of all the insults, the ones that attack his intelligence and brain are the only ones capable of hitting him. He just can’t let it go.

“Okay.” His gaze changes: in the blue crystalline irises there are now a stubbornness and a determination that aren’t childish anymore. Sherlock stands up and moves so he can be right next Jim’s chair and look at him from top to bottom. “I can discuss whatever you want when you want.” He leans forward. “I am right and I can prove it here and now.”

Jim blinks a few times in quick succession, but the surprise in his face doesn’t last long. Not even a second passed before he looks at him from below, every trace of disappointment and boredom replaced by an interest that almost makes his eyes shine. When he stands up, the lips are raised in the same feline smile Jim approached Sherlock with.

The idea of having found someone willing to indulge in what others would call petty ramblings stimulates something deep and lights a spark that makes Sherlock wanting to move in circle and talk for hours. It brings out what motivated him to become a professor in the first place. He didn’t feel it in a while.

"Not here." Jim gets closer, entering his personal space. Oddly enough, Sherlock doesn’t mind the intrusion, quite the opposite. "Let's find an empty classroom.”

Sherlock does not think twice before nodding.

He has no idea what he got himself into.

 

 


End file.
